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begged to assist him. As she took the cord, her hand accidentally touched his iť. was icy cold.
Reynolds, the old servant, brought in the candles, and asked, if his Lordship, if my Lady,' would not bave any supper ? any wine and water? Yes, some wine directly,' said Fitzhenry, as if hardly conscious of his demand.
« When it came, he endeavoured to pour out some for Emmeline; but'twice, from the nervous shaking of his hand, he was forced to put down the bottle.
4 Emmeline was really alarmed. Surely,' again she said 'timidly," you are very unwell. He did not seem to heed her, but drank off a large goblet of wine, and then with a steadier voice and manner said I have something on my mind which I must make known to you-perhaps I should have done it sooner-1 thought it best for both of us to write it,' and be held out his letter -- Take it, with you into your own room,' he added, seeing she was going to break the seal, He took up a candle, gave it her, went with her to the door, put his hand on the lock, and said -- When you have read this, forgive me if you can ;' then hastily seizing her hand, which he almost convulsively grasped, he left her.
* What poor Emmeline's feelings were, can be better imagined than described. « In one short moment, a thousand vague fears and horrors passed through her mind. It was her turn now to tremble, as, with the dreaded letter in her hand, she hurried to her own room. She there found her maid, whose presence disconcerted her much ; but she resolved to take off her gown speedily, and then dismiss her. Never before, she thought, had her attendant been so slow and tedious. She entangled or pulled every string into a knot. At last, her gown off—that beautiful lace gown in which her poor mother had that morning, with so much pride, arrayed her-all her bridal finery laid aside, she told her maid she wanted nothing more.
"Nothing more, my Lady!' said the maid astonished; shall I not put up your Ladyship's hair? Shall Í not wait to take away your candle? Mrs. Benson desired me to' -and she stopped short.
No, I want nothing,' again said Emmeline, in a voice she could hardly command. The woman stared, busied herself still some time in the room, and, at length, reluctantly departed.
" When she was gone, Emmeline sat for several minutes with the letter in her hand, before she had courage to open it. At length, taking a violent resolution, she broke the seal."
« Pelham” is altogether a novel of a different kind, involving a great number of subjects, each strongly contrasted with the other. In this work, the masculine hand is as evident as the pen of the female in the preceding. The life of a gentleman” must be rather an exciting affair, instead of a languid one, as is too generally supposed, if it at all resemble, in its adventures, the incidents of the present work'; wherein dissipated gallantry and virtuous love, effeminacy and duelling, politics and cookery, poetry and drunken exploits, literary criticism and coxcombry in dress, metaphysics and pugilism, aristocratical refinement and vulgar" debauchery, oratory and drawing-room persiflage, gaming and murder, personality and philosophy, and tragedy and comedy, mingle together in one whirl before the eyes of the reader. The author is evidently familiar with his subject; and so peculiar are his details, and such internal evidence do they bear of truth, that it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that they could have been obtained only by experience. Our article would extend itself to a very inconvenient length, were we to attempt to give an abstract of a story so very fertile in incident; but our readers will have some idea of it, when we tell them that it is formed on the old admirable, but disused plan of Le Sage, Fielding, and Smollett; namely, the tracing the life of the hero from his boyhood upwards, and thus laying before the reader, as in a map, the whole history of the man, and of his opinions and pursuits as modified by change of age and new connexions. Mr. Hope in his “ Anastasius” has practised this method of novel. writing ; but in his work, no less than in Gil Blas, Tom Jones, and Roderiek Random, the hero is a mere adventurer (not the less interesting, we admit, on that account); and it seemed strange that the same scheme of fiction had never, in any conspicuous instance, been adopted to delineate the
life of any other class of persons. “The adventures of a gentleman" are, it must be acknowledged, something new in literature.
The hero of our present novel is at once a dandy and a philosopher, an effeminate coxcomb who curls his hair and perfumes himself, and a cool and daring character when any desperate enterprise is to be achieved. He shines equally as a debauchee and a moralist ; and his opinion of coats and of the state of parties are alike worthy of attention. His school exploits--his in trigues in Paris--the figure he cuts in the private fashionable society of that capital, in which we are brought, as it were, face to face with living personages of eminence, such as Villele the statesman, the Duc d'Angoulême, the Duchesse de Berry, Madame de la Roche Jaquelin, &c.-his sheers at the Cheltenham assemblies—his consultations with the great tailors of the day-his nocturnal street adventures-his diplomacy-his love-his devotion to his friend—his whim and his melancholy, are all capable of fixing the attention of the reader. Next to Pelham himself, a certain Sir Reginald Glanville makes a conspicuous figure in the novel; and the unexplained hatred he bears to Tyrrell (another of the characters) together with his supposed guilt in the murder of that person, are circumstances which irresistibly fix one's attention to the page. Of the minor characters, we were much struck with the Parisian coquette, the Duchesse de Perpignan, Thornton the English sharper, Russelton (a very lively sketch of Beau Brummell), Lord Guloseton the epicure, Lord Dawton the whig leader, and Clutterbuck the hen-pecked pedant. The enthusiasm of this last person, we would just hint, is more that of a poet than of a verbal critic. On looking over our list, we find that (probably out of a horror of mixing company) we have omitted to mention the vagabonds Gordon and Job Jonson, two not unimportant personages.
To give specimens of the various moods of our author, would be impossible within our limits. We shall content ourselves, therefore, with the following brief autobiographical sketch of the life of Mr. Russelton.
66 « Have you read -'s Memoirs ?' said Mr. Russelton. "No! Well, I imagined every one had at least dipped into them. I have often had serious thoughts of dignifying my own retirement by the literary employment of detailing my adventures in the world. I think I could throw a new light upon things and persons, which my contemporaries will shrink back like owls at perceiving.'
« • Your life,' said I, must indeed furnish matter of equal instruction and amusement.'
• "• Ay,' answered Russelton ; amusement to the fools, but instruction to the knaves. I am, indeed, a lamentable example of the fall of ambition. I brought starch into all the neckcloths of England, and I end by tying my own at a three-inch looking-glass at Calais. You are a young man, Mr. Pelham, about to commence life, probably with the same views as (though greater advantages than) myself ; perhaps in indulging my egotism, I shall not weary without recompensing you.
** I came into the world with an inordinate love of glory and a great admiration of the original; these propensities might have made me a Shakspeare-they did more, they made me a Russelton! When I was six years old, I cut my jacket into a coat, and turned my aunt's best petticoat into a waistcoat. I disdained at eight the language of the vulgar, and when my father asked me to fetch his slippers, I replied, that my soul was swelled beyond the limits of a lackey's. At nine, I was self-inoculated with propriety of ideas. I rejected malt with the air of His Majesty, and formed a violent affection for maraschino; though starving at school, I never took twice of pudding, and paid sixpence a-week out of my shil. ling, to have my shoes blacked. As I grew up, my notions expanded. I gave myself, without restraint, to the ambition that burnt within me.I cut my old friends, who were rather envious than emulous of my genius, and I employed three tradesmen to make my gloves--one for the hand, a second for the fingers, and a third for the thumb! These two qualities made me courted and admired by a new race-for the great secrets of being courted are, to shun others, and seem delighted with yourself. The latter is obvious enough ; who the deuce should be pleased with you, if you yourself are not?
56* Before I left college, I fell in love; other fellows, at my age, is such a predicament, would have whined shaved only twice a week, and written verses. I did none of the three- the last indeed I tried, but, to my infinite surprise, I found my genius was not universal. I began with
"Sweet nymph, for whom I wake my muse.' For this, after considerable hammering, I could only think of the rhyme shoes,'--so I began again,
" Thy praise demands much softer lutes.' And the fellow of this verse terminated like myself, in boots.' -Other efforts were equally successful-bloom' suggested to my imagination no rhyme but perfume;'- despair' only reminded me of my hair,' --and hope was met at the end of the second verse, by the inharmonious antithesis of soap.' Finding, therefore, that my forte was not in the Pierian line, 1 redoubled my attention to my dress; I coated, and cravated, and essenced, and oiled, with all the attention the very inspiration of my rhymes seemed to advise ;-in short, I thought the best pledge I could give my Dulcinea of my passion for her person, would be to show her what affectionate veneration I could pay to my own.
4• My mistress could not withhold from me her admiration, but she denied me love. She confessed Mr. Russelton was the best-dressed man at the University, and had the whitest hands; and two days after this avowal, she ran away with a great rosy-cheeked extract from Leicestershire.
“• I did not blame her : I pitied her too much—but I made a vow never to be in love again. In spite of all advantages I kept my oath, and avenged myself on the species for the insult of the individual.
'"Before I commenced a part which was to continue through life, I considered deeply on the humours of the spectators. I saw that the character of the English was servile to rank, and yielding to pretension-they admire you for your acquaintance, and cringe to you for your conceit. The first thing, therefore, was to know great people--the second, to control them. I dressed well, and had good horses, --that was sufficient to make me sought by the young of my own sex. I talked scandal, and was never abashed—that was more than enough to make me recherché among the matrons of the other. It is single men, and married women, to whom are given the St. Peter's keys of Society. I was soon admitted into its heaven-I was more I was one of its saints I became imitated as well as initiated. I was the rage--the lion. Why ?-was I better-was I richer-was I handsomer was I cleverer, than my kind ? No, no ;-(and here Russelton ground his teeth with a strong and wrathful expression of scorn);—and had I been all had I been a very concentration and monopoly of all human perfections, they would not have valued me at half the price they did set on me. It was I will tell you the simple secret, Mr. Pelham—it was because 1 trampled on them, that, like crushed herbs, they sent up a grateful incense in return.
"Oh! it was balm to my bitter and loathing temper, to see those who would have spurned me from them, if they dared, writhe beneath my lash, as I withheld or inflicted it at will. I was the magician who held the great spirits that longed to tear me to pieces, by one simple spell, which a superior hardihood had won me-and, by heaven, I did not spare to exert it.
“ • Well, well, this is but an idle recollection now; all human power, says the proverb of every language, is but of short duration. Alexander did not conquer kingdoms for ever; and Russelton's good fortune deserted him at last. Napoleon died in exile, and so shall I; but we have both had our day, and mine was the brightest of the two, for it had no change till the evening. I am more happy than people would think for-Je ne sais pas souvent où mon corps est-I live in a world of recollections, I trample again upon coronets and ermine, the glories of the small great! I gave once more laws which no libertine is so hardy not to feel ex. alted in adopting ; I hold my court, and issue my fiats; I am like the madman, and out of the very straws in my cell, I make my subjects and my realm ; and when I wake from these bright visions, and see myself an old deserted man, forgotten, and decaying inch by inch in a foreign village, 1 can at least suminon suffi. cient of my ancient regality of spirits not to sink beneath the reverse. If I am inclined to be melancholy, why, I extinguish my fire, and imagine I have demolished a Duchess. I steal up to my solitary chamber, to renew again, in my sleep,
the phantoms of my youth; to carouse with princes; to legislate for nobles, and to wake in the morning'; (here Russelton's countenance and manner suddenly changed to an affectation of methodistical gravity,) and thank Heaven that I have still a coat to my stomach, as well as to my back, and that I am safely delivered of such villainous company, to forswear sack and live cleanly,' during the rest of my sublunary existence.'
“ After this long detail of Mr. Russelton's, the conversation was dull and broken.. I could not avoid indulging a reverie upon what I had heard, and my host was evidently still revolving the recollections his narration had conjured up; we sat opposite each other for several minutes as abstracted and distracted as if we had been a couple two months married ; till at last I rose, and tendered my adieus. Russelton received them with his usual coldness, but more than his usual civility,, for he followed me to the door,
“ Just as they were about to shut it, he called me back. Mr. Pelham,' said he, • Mr. Pelham, when you come back this way, do look in upon me, and—and as you will be going a good deal into society, just find out what people say of my manner of life !!"
“ At Home,” like the first novel on our list, is evidently the production. of a woman; but, in one sense, she is more exclusively a woman of the world than the authoress of “ Marriage in High Life.” She appears to live entirely in the region of fashion; her native air seems to be the atmosphere of drawing-rooms; her “old familiar faces” are to be found only among peers and peeresses, and titles are to her household words. Yet she is not destitute of imagination, or of sentiment ; some of her characters, such as Fitzosborne, the Machiavel of the story, and Lord Alton the upright statesman, are delineated in a serious style, and several of the incidents are of a tragic nature. But for the most part, as we have hinted, her subject is confined to fashion, particularly as regards the female votaries of ton, whose pursuits she scrutinizes, not like the authoress of “Marriage in High Life” for the purpose of moralizing, but rather that she might exercise a spirit of ridicule and banter. It is not easy to imagine any thing more amusing than the display of the sex, which is laid before the reader in this novel; and it will be his own fault if, after perusing it, he does not understand something more than he could ever hope to arrive at, of that puzzle, woman. Mrs. Chapone who used to write letters under feigned names to “ The Rambler," would have been charmed with our authoress. Though the story is not destitute of interest, we most like the detached scenes and dialogues, and dismiss the hero and heroine from our recollection as weak people, who industriously and ingeniously sought to bring their troubles on themselves.
ON A BOAT AT SEA, SEEN FROM THE NEEDLES'
But airy though thou seem'st, and light 4 ftirlo V. D
TIT: 169 otin
Or bubble of its foam,
In thee hath found a home.
And trims thy tiny sail,
Tells me thy steersman's tale.
The yearnings Nature gives,
Which cling to all that lives,
And aspirations high,
And human sympathy ;-
Ordain'd the ark should be,-
#KETCHES OF PARISIAN SOCIETY, POLITICS, & LITERATURE. To the Editor of the New Monthly Magazine.
Paris, May 22, 1828. Our present unfortunate Ministers, that is to say, MM. Roy, de Martignac, de la Feronnais, &c. are afraid of every body, but chiefly of the King, who will probably dismiss them the day after the Budget has passed the Chamber of Deputies; and next of the Jesuits, who form the only skilfully constituted, and consequently the only very powerful body existing in France. What adds to the oddity of this state of things is, that the Jesuits, who used to complain of M. de Villele's timidity, have now, in the days of their sorrow, which they date from the liberal elections, chosen the ExMinister for their chief. The Jesuits execrate M. de Chateaubriand, who has made an arrangement with the Ministers in consequence of which the Journal des Debats is no longer an opposition paper ; for you must be aware that M. de Chateaubriand reigns over the Debats still more despotically than the Jesuits over France. The singular position of a King who betrays his
own Ministers, gives rise to a number of incidents which keep alive the attention of men of the world, and afford ample food for the gossip of the higher circles of society.
From this brief sketch, it will not be difficult for you to conjecture what the folks who compose our fashionable world have been busying their heads about during the last month. It has not been what, strictly speaking, may be called politics that has given them occupation; they are stirred only by a certain portion of that lively curiosity which the gambols of rope-dancers excite. "In these piping times of peace and legitimate tranquillity, political falls break no necks. Such harmless tumbles, therefore, gratify the majority, and no comedy, were it as witty as any of Scribe's, amuses the Parisian public so much as the ousting of a Ministry.
Notwithstanding their fears, our present Ministers have, however, ventured to allow MM. Guizot and Cousin to resume their courses. M. Gai